Explain to me…
I choke back the words:
“I never should have loved you
if I’m so easy to let down
or throw away.
Explain to me why nights must fall,
why days break with the dawn,
and why my heart broke with
the crack in your voice.
Though we could mend them all,
the bruised nights and shattered days
are easily forgiven and forgotten.
If you’d take back what you feel.
If only you’d take back what you feel;
keep it to yourself.
And I’ll keep my setting suns
gold instead of red.
My nights would still be stable
and my days would skip the dawn.”
[Work in progress]
Poisoned from the start…
He startled from his boring life
of carbon copy coffee cups.
Awakened from his noxious rut
dug by what was not enough,
he stumbled in in arrogance
with newly found philosophies.
“Self-reflect,” he tried to convince.
I replied to all his Socrates:
“The unexamined life is not worth living?
It hurts too much the other way around!
It doesn’t matter; pick your poison:
Arsenic or Cyanide! We all fall down!
The unexamined life is not worth living!
Leave to me the little hopes I have and
fictions that what we do will have meaning
though we have all been poisoned from the start…”
A Vicious Circle
For fear, I caused,
to fight, ‘cause
courage didn’t root much for me.
Instead of living,
I, afraid, sought
to frighten everything away.
Until there came a day
I realized for my own sake
that loneliness couldn’t be scared astray
and so, I thought,
to surround myself
will be the best remedy.
But for fear, I cause,
to fight, ‘cause
courage and love bested of me.
Self-destructive
Someone slit my wrists for me.
I’m not strong enough to cut myself,
But I want pain.
At least then, I can lie to myself
and say,
“I’m not self-destructive.”
Away from the West…
She said, “seeing is believing.” Well, it’s a good thing she always lies. I don’t want to believe my eyes when confronted with the truth. She said, “Hun, we’ll be alright. Let’s just get past this. I love you and you love me too, that’s all that matters. We can push through anything.” Can we push through anything?
See, lately nothing to me’s true. Not my alarm clock’s buzzing me awake when I don’t wake to you, but I can promise that I’ll never let myself wake up to you. Of that I’m certain. I know it’s true.
Oh, and I’m sure “he means nothing to you, too.” Know how I know? Because I’ve been there, behind the wheel of my car hoping I could gain the strength it takes to just let go. Let the wheel spin where it may and let my car go where it will, because I’m pulling away from West, toward darkening skies as the sun sets behind me. I’m leaving you.
Rose Thorn
Rose Thorn, meet open
Heart: broken Skin on scarred Wrists
bleeding red Petals.
Rose Thorn, love suture
Art: forlorn Scribbles sown by
all your Betrayals.
(Rose Thorn,)
A Heart can’t beat without —
(Rose Thorn,)
My Heart won’t beat without
Reason.
Give me Reason;
I choose Life.
Rose Thorn, steal every
Breath: tickling Reminders of
Things for regretting.
Rose Thorn, promise for
Death: careful Insurance we
can’t start forgetting.
(Rose Thorn,)
A Heart can’t beat without —
(Rose Thorn,)
My Heart won’t beat without
You.
Give me You;
I choose Life.
Ants
The sun shines on me
as I bathe in grass.
A thought dons; I see
as ants march past,
the world could always seem bigger;
the universe, more infinite still.
I play god and
decide who lives and dies.
The lives they’ve planned
In flames they fried.
And the ants philosophized
and the ants fought over why.
The world around them
stained in brown,
for false ideals
they all fell down.
And the ants philosophized.
And the ants threw around the blame.
Freedom
Freedom:
“To speak my mind,
in shy display
I write.”
It’s right
for me to say
“I wouldn’t have it any
other way.”
Freedom:
“To share old thoughts
with new eyes,”
I cry.
Lay wry
with the jubilee;
“I’m happy just to be
with me.”
Freedom:
To benefit from experience,
and my creativity;
never censor
for senser
of placating imagination.
“I’m pixilated, and you read to deep
into me.”
Falling With Style
I leap’d from a cliff
and glided for a while
on happy airs
before I realized
I’m heavier than a hot breeze,
and it was too late.
I was sinking in sky
and falling with style.
Leather-bound Love Stories, by a Hopeless Romantic